


Nearer My God To Thee

by Vacilando



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: ALL THE FAMILIAL FEELS FOR ROXY AND PERCY IT BURNS, M/M, Other, hartwin is incapable of staying away, it's okay come yell at me, ohmygod you guys are going to hate me so much, roxy and percival familial feels, the Titanic AU no one wanted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 16:55:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3536990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vacilando/pseuds/Vacilando
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world ends in cold water, to the sounds of Nearer My God To Thee. </p>
<p>It's all so unfair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nearer My God To Thee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MasterOfAllImagination](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasterOfAllImagination/gifts).



> This got out of hand. This got way out of hand.
> 
> I apologize in advance.

 

* * *

 

“Get on the boat, darling.” Uncle Percy’s arms are bracketed around her as he forces their way through the maddening crowd. Screaming, crying, pleadings and amidst it all, the sounds of the band playing in the far side of the deck and the tender notes of the quartet sooths Roxy’s ears along her Uncle’s heartbeat as she presses her cheeks against his chest. The crisp white shirt of his tuxedo will leave imprints on her face, but she could not care less.

 

They are pushed and shoved against each other and from her warm cocoon of thick cashmere jacket and her Uncle’s arms, she sees Mr Merlin ushering Lady Edmure and her daughter Amelia to the waiting boats. He looks as calm and as composed as ever, her charming tutor. Not a single article of clothing out of place as he waves his glove-clad hands over his head, calling for the womenfolk and children to make their way to where he is.

 

Roxy hugs her Uncle a little tighter as they reach the side of the deck, the cold of the metal pressing against her back. She looks up to take in her Uncle’s strong jawline, the sharpness of his profile and the perkiness of his nose. A flash of memory from her schoolgirl days comes unbidden when that profile is lighted up by the light of the flares overhead. For a moment, the sound of the chaos and the stifling fear of death by ice water are muted. She is transported to bright summer days on the family French château where her Uncle Percy attempted to teach her horseback riding, constantly telling her to master her grip before even thinking about going faster than a simple trod. She had scoffed at him for it, thinks herself to be quite the rider at the tender age of ten. The ensuing panic and pain that accompanied falling off her horse frightened her a little less when she opened her eyes and the first thing she see was her Uncle’s profile against the bring summer sun, perched on top of his horse before he leaped down and fussed over her.

 

Her Uncle Percy is a father, a mother, and a mentor all in one and she is terrified for him even as she stares down the long fall into the unforgiving cold pacific.

 

“Roxy, darling look at me.” Roxy tears her eyes from the waves below and looks up at her Uncle once more. She presses herself closer to him and he tightens his arms evermore around her shoulders, his face close and his eyes shining. “Roxy my darling girl, you must promise me to stay on the boat,” she watches in vapid fascination as the man swallows thickly. Her breathing is laboured now and her chest constricts as the crowd around them presses tighter than ever, and somewhere from the chaos a gunshot rings true and terrible in the night. “You must promise me to live, and live well. For me.”

 

But still, the quartet plays on.

 

“Do you understand, Roxy girl?”

 

Roxy bobs her head once, twice, and continues to nod in small quick movements of her head. Her hair spills from the neat bun her maid had pulled them in and they tumble down like rivers of honey over the sleeves of her Uncle’s dark tuxedo jacket that are now wrapped so hard around her that she could hardly breathe.

 

“Yes, Uncle.” She gasps. Her eyes are watering when she closed them just to fully appreciate the warmth of her Uncle’s embrace. She knows he is not coming with her. She heard the officers; _women and children only, WOMEN AND CHILDREN ONLY, GENTS FOR GOD’S SAKE._ “Uncle please,” she tries to say, but for the life of her she could not understand just what is it that she is begging for from her Uncle. “Uncle please, just— _please._ ”

 

Her eyes are open now and the brown of it stares into her Uncle’s own, so familiar are they to her late father’s that she wonders if the man himself is not staring back at her through his brother. He smiles down at her then, lips pulled into a familiar curve as though she has just made another clever quip or managed to chastened young suitors with the sheer number of game she shot. He shakes his head and his shining eyes spill over the edge and down his cheeks quietly.

 

She looks away and presses her cheeks once again against his chest as they stand amidst the shouting and crying. Overhead, she hears the pastor reading the last rite and a terrible emptiness fills her every corner. Mr Merlin is but a few metres away from them now, coordinating the women and children into lines. She feels Uncle Percy nods and she feels him beginning to extract her from his embrace when her eyes fall onto an unlikely pair just behind them.

 

Duke Hart- or just Harry to Uncle Percy and Mr Merlin, whilst Uncle Harry to her- is gently grasping the side of a young man’s face, his own visage a crumpled mess and much unlike the man she grew up knowing. He is speaking to the young man whose back is to her, but she can clearly see that whatever it is that he said had agitated the youth when he pulls away. The blond of his hair reflects the red of the flares above them as he shakes his head viciously, his hands grasping the lapels of Uncle Harry’s tuxedo.

 

She thinks he might be crying.

 

Roxy is distracted for the moment when Uncle Percy passes her over to Mr Merlin, his one hand on her cheek and another on her shoulder. Her eyes are blurry and she angrily blinks away the tears, wanting to focus on her Uncle. Wanting to take in his face, his broad shoulders, his hair, his smile, everything. She needs this moment to catalogue him as he is now so that she will remember him to the end of her days, the memory of him and her father and mother will comfort her till her deathbed.

 

He lets her go with one last sweep of his hand through her hair and she places her hand into Mr Merlin’s as he helps her climb into the boat. Their eyes meet for a moment and her heart stutters as she realizes that she will never see this man ever again as well. This man who taught her numbers and geometry, who encouraged her fascination with logic games, who frustrates her with puzzles but rewards her with teaching her the mechanics of an engine. He smiles at her encouragingly, his hand squeezes hers before letting go.

 

“NO I WON’T, YOU BASTARD. GET YOUR HANDS _OFF.”_

 

Roxy sways where she stands when the boat jostles, but her head is already turned to the direction of the voice. It is that blond youth again, and this time he is struggling viciously against Uncle Harry’s grip. The older gentleman is outright dragging the boy through the scandalised upper crust crowd, barely troubled by the near stampede that erupts from another gunshot. Somewhere, she hears the shout of _MURDERER,_ but she is too preoccupied. Her Uncle is gone now, mixed in the despairing crowd of the rich and the poor. They are all the same, in the end she supposes. Chinese silk and money cannot help one float or not die of pneumonia it seems.

 

She distracts herself by watching Uncle Harry continue to drag the young man forward, his face determined whilst the youth – _Eggsy,_ she recalls now. _Eggsy, the boy Uncle Harry brought to dinner the night before, beautiful in a tuxedo and devastating when he smiles, but painfully tender when he smiles at Uncle Harry._ \- all but plants his feet onto the wooden, slippery deck. They are closer now and she does not have to strain to hear their words. Somewhere, she feels a tug and glances down long enough to see that one of the young ladies from her afternoon tea gatherings is pulling her to sit as the crew prepares the boat for its descent.

 

She shakes the girl off and looks back to the pair, now standing directly in front of a stiff-backed Mr Merlin. Roxy faintly registers the haunting music of Nearer My God to Thee playing in the background of the chaos. She wonders, for a hysterical moment, how could it be that such a soft song could sound so loud amidst bedlam and impending death, how could it climb so high into the night sky with the terrible sound of waves lapping against the ship. She hears a terrible crack and her heart is in her throat when she realises that _Oh, dear Lord the ship is breaking._

 

“I WONT LEAVE YOU, GODDAMMIT. HARRY PLEASE, YOU CAN’T-“

 

“EGGSY, FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE, LISTEN TO ME.”

 

Roxy is pulled back to the present and she looks back to the arguing pair. She focuses all that she is on the two, never allowing herself even a moment to think about her Uncle Percy remaining on a ship that she knows will split in two. She will not be able to keep her promise to stay if she allows herself that, she thinks.

 

They are both standing by the edge of the metal railings and Roxy absently appreciates the picture they made set against the ever continuous glare of flares. It is all very dramatic, she thinks; the music, the flares, the screaming crowd, the watery grave directly below them.  

 

It is all very dramatic and so very tragic.

 

The anger comes in an unexpected burst from deep within her and it consumes her body like an inferno, an explosion so large and so hot that the heat burns bright white. The anger forces her to think _why, why Eggsy and why Uncle Harry; why not Uncle Percy and Mr Merlin why won’t they buy a spot; why won’t they do what Uncle Harry is doing for Eggsy; why are they letting her go alone; why is the ship sinking at all;_ the unfairness of it all nearly consumes her whole and Roxy grasps the thick ropes that are suspending their boat. The roughness of the fibre cuts into her soft skin as she has forgotten to put on her gloves, but the pain grounds her to the now. It is enough to bring her back and just as quickly as it came, the anger leaves her. She grits her teeth then and looks back to the deck.

 

Uncle Harry is now just holding onto Eggsy, his arms are wrapped tightly around Eggsy’s shoulder and waist. Their foreheads are pressed together, noses touching, their eyes are closed and white wisps of condensation from their breaths mingle together in the cold night air. Roxy thinks that Uncle Harry might be crying, but she cannot be sure. The thought itself seems ridiculous- Duke Hart? Crying amidst a sinking cruise liner? The former Commander of the Royal Navy, Duke Hart?

 

Never. The man is one of the bravest she knows and he would never weep in the face of death.

 

_But perhaps_ , she thinks as she watches Uncle Harry’s lips move in a whisper before kissing Eggsy’s lips, nose, and eyelids so heartbreakingly soft _, that perhaps he is weeping at the thought of being separated by death._

 

The boat is now free from its ties and the pulley is being slowly released. Roxy is forced by the motion to sit down beside the girl she so hastily shook off before. Her eyes, however, does not move from Uncle Harry and his Eggsy. There is defeat in the way Eggsy’s wool-covered shoulders are set as he climbs over the railings and into her boat. There would have been murmurs of indignation if this is under any other circumstance, but everyone else in the boat with her have their heads tilt up with their eyes streaming something awful as they stretched their arms high in an attempt to reach their husbands and sons and brothers and grandfathers and Uncles.

 

Eggsy’s head is turned away from her as he stands close to where she sits. Here, she can see that the coat is the familiar charcoal black of Uncle Harry’s, the one that he is fond of with its silk lining and his initials clumsily embroidered on the inside of its collar, the work of a thirteen year old girl learning to embroider at the insistence of her Uncle Percy about _‘at least trying it once before deciding you’re useless at it, Roxy girl’_.

 

The boat jostles a little and the women yelp collectively through their tears, but Roxy is stubbornly focused on Eggsy’s face lest she lose herself to the thought of her Uncles –all of them- dying tonight whilst she stands a chance to live. The song is slowly coming to its end now and the flares are coming slower and lesser than they were five minutes ago. The lights of the Titanic flickers once, flickers twice, and it goes out. In the background of it all, she hears screaming for Edwards and Roberts and Edgars and Thomas and Josephs and the resounding Marys and Eleanors and Roselles and Sophias.

 

But all she sees is Eggsy and the way his mouth is slightly opened as he stares up the deck. They are being carefully lowered to the sea and as the pulley brings them down, they are both being taken all the way further from the most important men in their lives. She follows Eggsy’s line of sight and her breath is taken away once more.

 

Harry Hart –her Uncle Harry- stands silhouetted by the glare of the flares, his face calm and his lips pulled in a tender smile. His eyes are the softest she has ever seen them and they shine with the sheen of tears. The lines on his face are deeper but his forehead is smooth, acceptance and relief written all over the precious face.

 

The moment is suspended for what feels like a lifetime to her, but an eternity for Eggsy, she is sure. Nearer My God to Thee ends and Uncle Harry –Eggsy’s Harry- turns away with a clap on Mr Merlin’s shoulder, forever gone from her sight.

 

The sudden violent shake and jolt of the boat is a terrible realisation for Roxy that other people are throwing themselves from the decks in hopes of landing into the lifeboats as they pass down. Many failed and find themselves being swept away under the cruel waves below. Roxy had a split second of warning before she managed to launch herself towards Eggsy, pinning him as best as she could as he struggles against her hold.

 

Her face is smashed against the soft thick wool, the warmth of Eggsy’s back a sharp contrast to the cold wind of the ocean and night. Eggsy is wailing by now, screaming for Harry to come back, to look at him, to not leave him. Then Eggsy is struggling to _climb over the boat whilst it’s moving oh dear god_ to get to Harry, but Roxy holds on tighter. She suspects that he knows who she is and perhaps that is only reason he does not harm her.

 

Roxy hurts.

 

Oh how she hurts.

 

Eggsy’s pleas and expletives and screaming hurt her to her very core. It breaks the pieces of her already broken heart into the smallest of particles and there are no chances of it being fixed now. It is not that she has made peace with the knowledge that she has left her Uncle Percy for dead, but she has been doing so well in distracting herself with Eggsy and Uncle Harry that she forgets for a moment that she will live and Uncle Percy will die and when she arrives in America to their large townhouse, it will be empty.

 

Never again will her Uncle sit in his office after dinner whilst she makes herself comfortable by the fire with a book that Mr Merlin lent her.

 

Never again will her Uncle take her out into the countryside and teaching her how to drive, peers be damned.

 

Never again will he call her his _Roxy girl, always going about looking for trouble and breaking young men’s hearts._

 

 

But she is strong.

 

Her Uncle taught her to be strong and that is what she will be for him, in this moment as she holds onto Eggsy as tight as her arms allow her. She will be strong for him as she uses her weight to pull Eggsy down with her and very nearly sprawl on top of him when the lights died on the Titanic and the ship _cracks down the middle and oh Lord save him save Uncle Percy please._

 

 

Eggsy is terribly silent.

 

The abrupt change rattles her and she pulls away just enough to see that he is just staring blankly at the dark sky –flares gone- and the even darker ship. The mass hysteria is tripled now that the electricity is gone. It is like the realisation finally has settled in on everyone left on the massive ship; that they are going to die.

 

Their boat hits the water in an almost laughably soft manner before the officers begin to row away from the cruise ship and away from her Uncle.

 

The rise and fall of Eggsy’s abdomen lulls her somewhat, despite the occasional hitched, wet breaths. Strong –but shaking arms- wrap themselves around her and she crawls a little higher to rest her head on Eggsys’s chest as their boat is rowed away from the vicinity of the ship with the occasional hits and bumps when officers beats off screaming passengers floating in the water with their life jackets.

 

Roxy feels Eggsy propping himself up and she follows.

 

They are further than she thought and she wondered just how long have she been lying almost catatonic on Eggsy, just listening to him trying to silence his tears. The two of them –and all the other poor souls on their boat- watch the ship of dreams break in half from the safety of the distance and twice damned boat. She feels Eggsy tense at the first clear break, when it sinks ever so slowly in a vertical line and watching tiny specks falling off its tips...wondering if any of them is her Uncle Percy or Uncle Harry or Mr Merlin.

 

She feels Eggsy sagging bonelessly when the last of the ship sinks into the ocean and she knows that he is wondering the same as she is: _are they dead? Are they dying? Did it hurt? Oh god let them have died quickly. Let them be dead now rather than dying slowly in the water. Heaven forgive me but let them die rather than suffer._

 

 

* * *

And so they float aimlessly for hours, praying for absolution or death, it makes no difference to her. Roxy allows herself to be held by Eggsy knowing that this is for him as much as it is for her. She can feel her heart grow heavier and heavier with every hoarse screaming and pleading that reaches their boat, until the weight of it is too much that it surely must have sunk with the Titanic and her Uncle. The space where her heart used to be is now empty and she imagines that if one were to put their ear to her chest, would they hear the sound of the ocean?

 

Eggsy is so terribly, horribly still around her. His arms barely moved in the past hours, not even twitching when an argument broke in the boat when Molly Brown, bless her heart, tried to push the officer to go back. Roxy would have had the notion that Eggsy had somehow died without her knowing, perhaps that the cold she feels are even worse for Eggsy and that she has sapped all of his body heat and now he’s dead. If it were not for the steady rise and fall of his chest, she would have screamed.

 

But she wonders if it would not be kinder to have him die after all, so that she may convince the others to row back to the corpses and then slide him over the boat and into the watery grave where Uncle Harry waits. Mr Merlin often said that she is clever and that her logic is flawless, given her scores on all his tests of logic. She therefore has no misconception that her darling Uncle Percy and Uncle Harry and her sweet, often sarcastic tutor Mr Merlin are gone from her forever.

 

The sound of the ocean echoes in her chest and she accepts this reality.

 

* * *

 

The Carpathia arrives just as the skies are turning a dusky pink over the horizon and it feels more like a punishment than an absolution to Roxy as she extracts herself from Eggsy’s stiff arms. She turns to look at the boy she barely knows and she is certain that he feels just the same. His eyes are dull and swollen, his face is pale with its dried tear tracks, and the marks on the base of his neck where it is exposed through his open collar is a stark contrast to the whiteness of his skin. Roxy would have laughed and enjoyed the scandal of it all if she had seen them whilst they stroll on deck two, but now her chest aches for Eggsy. She hopes that when the marks fade, Eggsy would still be living on this Earth and not lost to the memory of a man he loved –loves?- so fiercely.

 

Their boats are pulled up by pulleys and Roxy feels sick.

 

Their feet touch the deck of the Carpathia and a crewman throws a blanket over her. Roxy feels the unrest in her stomach, the bile at the back of her throat.

 

They –her and Eggsy both as his hand is attached to hers and neither is willing to let go- are ushered to the side and another crewman asks if Eggsy is the one she boarded the Titanic with and Roxy reacts by poking her head over the ramparts and emptied her stomach. Eggsy is by her side, massaging her back and her neck with one hand and holds her hair with the other. She cries in earnest now as she continues to vomit and she hates it all because all she hears in the emptiness of her mind and heart, are the sound of the ocean and her Uncle Percy telling her _Roxy girl, my brave girl, how utterly brave you have been my darling girl_ and she feels like a traitor.

 

* * *

 

It is hours later that they reach the actual coordinates.

 

She feels rather than see it coming, with the way that Eggsy releases her from where they have chosen to huddle together. She barely managed to grab the long hem of Uncle Harry’s coat when Eggsy all but ran to the ramparts, nearly throwing himself over board if it wasn’t for a sentry who caught him and dragged him away.

 

“HARRY!” Eggsy yells and Roxy flinches. “HARRY ANSWER ME, HARRY PLEASE—HARRY—“ And Roxy nods to the kindly sentry whose eyes are just this side of shiny and pity as he released Eggsy.

 

Her friend clings to the ramparts and she, in turn, clings to his back as his anchor once again. She grabs as much of Eggsy as she could, holding the wool of the jacket for dear life as she wills the tears away. Eggsy still screams for Harry and she feels him moving frantically from where she has her face hidden in between his shoulder blades. She imagines him searching for a familiar face, a face so dear and sweet and kind.

 

In the hollows of her chest, she feels the echo of hope that Uncle Percy and Mr Merlin might have survived. The echo could have gotten louder and stronger, but the memory of the flares and the sound of the quartet chased that fragile hope away and it is swept by the ocean where her heart used to be.

 

It is when she feels Eggsy nearly climbing over the ramparts that she firmly – almost harshly- tugs him away from the side and they tumble in a graceless heap on the deck floor. Déjà vu is a long and sharp blade as it impales her where it hurts and bleeds the most, draining her when she once again pins Eggsy down with her body.

 

“Eggsy,” she croaks, her voice rough from disuses and cold. “Eggsy what did Uncle Harry said to you before—before-“

 

“Oh god, Harry,” Eggsy wails and the sound cuts Roxy deep enough to slice through the rumbling ocean in her chest and spills enough of her Uncle into her mind. She shakes her head firmly.

 

“My Uncle told me to live well, Eggsy. He told me to live my life and live it well, and to do it for him. And Eggsy,” Roxy feels an urgency, an intense need to make Eggsy understand as she grabs his face in a sad mockery of how Uncle Harry did it just a scant few hours ago. “I owe it to him to honour that. So you must,” She swallow back a sob. “You must honour what Uncle Harry said to you, too.”

 

Eggsy stops struggling and Roxy focuses on his ragged breathing as to drown out the anguished crying and wailing of names around them.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

The apology is as silent as it is unexpected and Roxy lifts her head to peer at Eggsy. His eyes are still sad and dull, but they are not dead as they were on the boat.

 

“I’m sorry about your Uncle Percy,” Roxy’s breath hitched, but Eggsy carries on. “I’m sorry about Merlin. Miss Morton—Roxy, I’m sorry you had to be brave for me.”

 

Roxy could only nod.

 

And nod.

 

And nod even as Eggsy gently presses the back of her head so that she may bury her face in his heaving chest and the faint smell of Uncle Harry’s cologne. It is a sharp reminder that whilst Eggsy has this one comfort –the smell of his lover around him, no matter how faint- she herself does not have anything of her Uncle to wrap herself with.

 

“I’m sorry too, Eggsy.”

 

* * *

 

They ask for their names once they’ve nearly docked in.

Roxy stands as tall as she could manage and proudly says hers, “Roxanne Percival Morton.” The officer blinks at her middle name, as though knowing that it should not be there, but he nods just the same before turning to Eggsy and asking the same.

 

“Gary Hart Unwin.”

 

She blinks.

 

The officer has since then moved on to the other survivors. The rain falls softly around them, soaking their sea-roughened hair and the crude blanket wrapped around their shoulders. Roxy supposes that she ought to be just as enamored by the Statue of Liberty that’s almost looming over them in a show of awe to be alive, but she finds that she is more in awe of Eggsy at that point.

 

He is different, this young man beside her.

 

He stands tall and proud in his lover’s dark coat that should not by all accounts look good on a set of shoulders a tad smaller, but look good it does. The rain does nothing to tarnish the brilliance of his blond hair and the slight bruising –how had Roxy missed the bruising?- on his face only serve to make the set of his jaw and the tilt of his head all more regal. His eyes are still not as bright as they used to be during that one memorable dinner where he is the centre of Uncle Harry’s orbit, but they are alive.

 

A break in the clouds spills sunlight down onto the deck and a glimmer on Eggsy’s left hand catches Roxy’s eyes, and she might have stopped breathing all together as Eggsy looks back at her steadily.

 

“Gary Hart Unwin.” She lets the name roll in her mouth, testing it and deciding that yes, that will do nicely. She very briefly touches the signet ring on Eggsy’s finger and nods.

 

“Gary Hart Unwin it is, then.”

* * *

 

-

-

ok then come [yell at me](http://getinthefuckingjaeger.tumblr.com/) all you want

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry babes. Happy One Month Anniversary?


End file.
